


Hayden Seek

by lennongirl



Category: Actor RPF, Star Wars RPF
Genre: Angry Sex, M/M, POV Ewan McGregor, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 03:08:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/806467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lennongirl/pseuds/lennongirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So you think it’s the greatest irony ever that the one set you thought you’d be perfectly safe on had to provide the biggest temptation of all; the one that would eventually bring you and your defences down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hayden Seek

**Author's Note:**

> Written in May 2005.

You will give in eventually, that much you are certain of, and it scares you to death. You don’t know exactly how and when you realised you would, but you know you won’t be able to resist much longer.

You wonder if this temptation has always been there or if you just didn’t notice it before. You believe the former to be true. Because you surely would’ve noticed it, had it been there, isn’t that right? For you know all about temptations. You’ve encountered them in many shapes and forms; you’ve given into a lot of them but stopped doing so when you swapped your casual lifestyle in favour of becoming a decent family man. You thought that some kind of special armour came with that swap; the kind of armour that made it suddenly so easy for you to just say no. Fact is, the temptations didn’t disappear overnight just because you said ‘yes’ for the very last time (at least you thought it was the last time, little did you know back then), you just didn’t care about them anymore. You’ve had your share, you thought you were through with it once and for all. And since you never were into method acting, it wasn’t a hard thing for you to politely but definitely decline offers of others (girls, yes, but also guys) whenever they tried to relive the on screen chemistry after working hours.

So you think it’s the greatest irony ever that the one set you thought you’d be perfectly safe on had to provide the biggest temptation of all; the one that would eventually bring you and your defences down (not to mention the so called armour – what a ridiculous concept to begin with). And you wonder whomever you pissed off and what exactly you did to them so they decided to make Hayden Christensen your nemesis.

The more you think about it, the more you _know_ that the temptation hadn’t been there the first time around. This is how you remember Hayden: all excitement, enthusiasm and curiosity, following your every move, soaking up your every word. You remember being secretly flattered by his constant need for your guidance, and you were just too happy to provide it. But, and you’re absolutely sure about that by now, there was never the tiniest notion of anything tempting in a sexual way. He was young and playful, maybe he didn’t only look for advice but also for comfort, but the thought that embraces or kisses could be anything else than platonic signs of friendship and trust never crossed your mind, not once. You were the mentor, he was the apprentice, all he did was look up to you in an admiring, advice-seeking way. That’s what it was then, and that’s what you assumed it would be like now. Maybe that’s why you’re so lost now: it hit you cold. Because nothing and nobody could’ve prepared you for what you found when you came back.

***

You now look at him and wonder what exactly had made him change like that. You know that three years have happened, three important years for every young man, as cheap as it sounds. You see trained, defined body parts where once were all limbs and confusion. It’s not that you stare or desperately try to watch, but somehow you manage to catch a glimpse every now and then, and that’s enough to make you think. You also notice that what were once friendly smiles have now become something else, knowing smiles, predatory even. You feel silly for thinking this way and you blame you own overactive imagination for judging Hayden to be onto something, but you can’t help it. You feel, you almost know, that this time around he’s following you for a whole lot of different reasons. And although it intimidates you, you’re not exactly doing anything to stop it.

You wonder if you’re the only one who notices. So you let go off your Hayden observation for a few days and watch other people’s reactions to him instead. You see nothing unusual and you’re almost sure you’re just making up things that aren’t really there.

But then, once you focus back on him, he’s looking at you, and one side of his mouth curls into a smile. You see shiny teeth and full lips and the tip of his tongue and you have no idea what is going on anymore. Basically, what Hayden does is nothing you haven’t seen before. You know the looks, you know the tricks. The only thing that’s new is your own helpfulness.

Whenever you talk, things are so usual and casual it almost hurts. It’s only when there’s some physical distance between you, or if others are around, that Hayden turns from friendly friend to unpredictable threat. Only, is he a threat, really? Or are you the real threat for thinking about what you would like to do with him? The question gets stuck in your head, you can’t get rid of it. There’s nobody you can ask, nobody you can talk to. You could talk to Hayden, but there’s still a part inside you that thinks you’re insane and Hayden might run for the hills if you told him about your inner conflict.

You think you’re still safe. Worried and fucked up, but safe. As long as you only watch Hayden, maybe fantasise a bit about him, things will be fine. 

You should’ve known better.

***

The training sessions are the worst. There’s so much physicality involved, there’s sweat and testosterone in the air, there are shirts clinging to bodies. There’s anger and force, and you just try and locate all your frustration and worries into your actions. Sometimes you succeed. Most often you don’t.

Hayden yelps and pulls away. You hit his hand, hard. 

“Wooo. Fingers?” you joke and try to sound somewhat unaffected, but even while you say the words you realise how pathetic you sound. Desperate, too. Hayden dances away from you, looks back over your shoulder and grins.

Later, when training is over, you hurry out of the gym, almost stumbling. You find a secluded space and lean against the wall. The bricks are cool against your overheated head. 

“You think hurting me is gonna make it any better?”

You thought you were spent, but the words make you turn around much faster than you’d planned. You feel dizzy for a moment.

“Sorry,” you say, “I really didn’t mean to.”

“Well yeah,” Hayden says and weighs his head. “It happened and will happen again, no big deal.”

You frown and, although you try your best not to, you zoom in on him, on little drops of sweat on his forehead, on his ribcage moving from still ragged breathing, on his slightly shaking arm. You shake your head. This has got to stop. Now. You can do better.

Only, Hayden won’t let you. He nods, steps closer to you and, without any further comment, unceremoniously fumbles with your belt. 

“What are you…” you begin, but your actions betray your words; instead of pushing him away, you let your head fall back. And Hayden doesn’t even bother to pay any attention to your lame protest at all. Instead, he opens your pants and reaches inside, deep, and then he grabs you, hard and so sure of what he’s doing that you have to gasp. 

He raises an eyebrow, makes a “hm” sound and weighs his head some more. And then, again without prior warning, he drops to his knees and pulls your trousers further down in one swift move.

You close your eyes, there are images inside your head, images of wife and children, but you push them away as far as you can, you zoom them out to a place that’s nice and warm and neighbourhood-friendly.

And then you feel his breath on your cock, and the next moment you’re trapped as you can be, caught between those lips, deep inside his mouth.

He lets go again to silence you with hissing, and it’s only then you realise you’re moaning. You wonder where everyone has gone, why there’s nobody here to help you, but then he swallows you again and you just give up.

He works you fast, sucking and licking and using his hands to press onto this spot right behind your balls. You fight and fight to keep your eyes closed until you can’t do it anymore, you have to look. You see him eyeing you, mouth full of cock, eyes full of knowing. You see how he enjoys what he’s doing and wonder what you look like, if your own enjoyment is visible too, or if there’s at least a little bit of restraint left in your own glance. There probably isn’t, for this just feels too damn good.

“Hayden. Hayden, I will… I’m gonna…” you breathe, you think you should at least warn him or something although you know he doesn’t care at all. And you’re right: you feel him smirk around you and he sucks you harder, willing to take it all. You clench your teeth and come, you shoot fast into his mouth, and he holds onto you not to miss anything, his nails digging into your thighs. There’ll be scratch marks, but physical scars are the last thing you’re worried about right now.

Once you’re done, he rises and pulls your pants back up. He even zips you up. You close your eyes again and try to calm down. You can’t do anything, much less say anything. You’re defeated.

“Gotta go,” he finally says, pats you on the shoulder and then he’s gone. And you’re still leaning against the wall, breathing hard, biting your tongue.

***

You try to avoid being alone with him as much as you can for the next few days. He doesn’t pay more attention to you than usual, if you thought things would change after the little oral incident, you’ve been mistaken. However, he doesn’t pay less attention to you, either, so you’re still aware that he might approach you again any time, the feeling keeping you on the tip of your toes.

You’re touchy and almost bitchy these days, and once again you try to turn your frustration into something more useful, to use it for training. Sometimes, you overdo it and almost become aggressive.

“Stop. STOP! Ewan, damn,” George calls out, and you back off of Hayden. He’s shaking his head and for the first time, you notice a sense of doubt surrounding him. But it’s gone the next moment.

George jogs over to the two of you.

“Ewan, what’s wrong with you? You’re not supposed to slaughter him.”

You shrug and don’t know what to say, but Hayden helps you out, talking about anger and frustration and devotion to a role and you wonder what kind of role he’s exactly talking about. You wonder when he became the master of all this.

“This has to stop,” you tell him as soon as George is out of hearing range again.

“You know it’s not over yet,” is all he says and resumes position to fight off your attack once more.

You don’t respond anymore, you wouldn’t know what to say. 

***

Things stay the same, except for that you somehow manage to keep yourself under control, as far as training is concerned. Maybe it’s because you eventually realised Hayden won’t approach you anymore. It’s your turn in this twisted mind game now. He’s waiting patiently, sneaking around you with lingering eyes and a sinful aura surrounding him. You wish you’d be strong enough to resist, to back off, to forget. But you aren’t and you can’t. It’s just a question of time, really, and you know Hayden knows it, too. 

You still do a lot of thinking whenever you’re alone. But the tone of it has changed. You now think about lips closed tightly around your cock. You think about coming inside his mouth, about his eagerness. You proceed onto other things and think about opening him up for you and entering him and thrusting, ripping him apart, and oh my god, he’s right, it’s far from over. 

It takes you two weeks. Two weeks of jerking off multiple times a day, two weeks of guilt-ridden phone calls with the ones you love, the ones at home. Two weeks of cold showers and the knowing that every single day of these two weeks is a waste of time trying to fight the inevitable. 

***

You walk over to his place. You need fresh air to clear your thoughts, for you still haven’t decided why you’re going to see him. At least you pretend you haven’t, you cling onto fooling yourself to feel better. Truth is, you know exactly what you’re doing, but well, maybe there’s a little ounce of hope left that the two of you will have some kind of mature talk, laugh about it and move on.

Only, you know it won’t happen. You know before you ring the bell, but you still do it.

“Hey,” he greets you and invites you in. He’s wearing sweatpants only, and you wonder if he knew about you coming around this very night. You wouldn’t be surprised if he did.

“You’re alone?” you ask, the most stupid question you could think of, but Hayden doesn’t mind.

“Yeah. Just relaxing. Beer?”

You wonder why he’s trying to have some sort of conversation. Maybe he’s not as sure as you thought he would be. But then you see him swaying his ass as he walks away from you to get drinks, and you don’t know if he’s doing it on purpose or not, and it doesn’t really matter anymore, all you know is that you need to take him right now.

With three long steps you’re right behind him. You grab him by the hips and push him over to the sofa, making him lose balance for a moment. He tumbles a bit and turns in your arms, and you use the invitation (you just interpret it to be an invitation) to attack him; you move in and kiss him. He responds as eagerly and willingly as you knew he would. He opens up for you, and you push your tongue inside to devour him, claim him, do anything to somehow gain the upper hand in this… thing. He won’t let you, not that easy, so your tongues duel and fight inside his mouth, and you grab him again to pull him closer to you. You need to feel more. Your crotch almost clashes against his; you’ve been hard ever since you got here. He’s hard, too, and you’re rubbing your cock against his in the most desperate attempt to increase friction you could think of, would you be thinking about it at all. All you do is move and feel and want and need.

He withdraws to catch his breath and you use the moment to get more of his body, you bite his neck and let your fingertips flicker across his nipples. You have to lift your arms because he’s trying to get rid off your shirt and once he’s done, you draw him even closer and now brush his nipples with your own. It’s fucking hot and he finally moans and, hearing him being aroused, too, knowing that this is not only some little psycho trick he’s pulling but something he wants as much as you want, turns you on even more, if possible.

You both keep on rubbing and grinding against each other. There are tongues and hands almost everywhere and, somehow, you both manage to undress. His cock springs free and now it’s you getting down, you don’t really want to blow him, you have other desires, but before you do anything else, you have to taste him. You lick across the slit a few times, lapping up whatever fluid is gathered there, before you suck him in, move up and down on his length for a few times and let go again.

“Enough,” you say as you rise again. It’s the first thing you said since you made your move, and the irony isn’t lost on you. Because you’re not done with him, you’re far from that.

“Fuck me,” is all _he_ says, and how fucked up can a situation be in which ‘enough’ and ‘fuck me’ actually end up to be a conversation that makes sense?

You’re more than willing to grant him his wish, but you’re paralysed for a moment. You can’t help but watch him as he takes a few steps towards his messenger bag, you stare at his chest and arms while he retrieves lube and some condoms (him keeping this items in the bag he takes to work tells you all you need to know), but finally, your glance settles on his butt, as he places his hands on the back of the sofa, presenting himself to you: willing, waiting.

You grab the lube and squeeze too much out of it; you must’ve lost the touch of it. You coat your fingers before you let them trail down his spine, further, further, and there. He spreads his legs and welcomes you in. You push two fingers in, fast, and hear him hiss. You don’t allow him or yourself any more time to think, reconsider maybe, and work on opening him up fast, just like you’d planned to do for the last weeks. You tell yourself that he deserves a rough treatment for doing what he did, for making you lose restraint and actually making you tempted to slap Natalie if you’d have to hear her say something like “I can’t believe how sweet Hayden is” just one more fucking time. Hayden needs to get a clue, you decide, he needs to understand that messing with you isn’t fun, that he’s not the one in charge. It’s not that you’re really angry with him, not anymore, but you need to make a point. If not for Hayden, at least for yourself. At least you’ll be able to tell yourself you tried.

“Come on, now, now,” he urges, so much for being in charge, McGregor, because you do as told, you pull your fingers out, reach for a condom, tear it open and put it on. You use the lube again, a bit more carefully this time. And then the moment has come and you realise you’re standing there, jaw wide open, breathing hard and shaking slightly, and you’re about to fuck your co star. So you do it.

You hold onto his buttocks for dear life as you enter him. There’s heat and tightness and everything that’s supposed to feel wrong, but it doesn’t. It welcomes you and you feel good, so good to be there, at last. 

Hayden is trembling underneath you; he’s making a loud, weird noise that turns into a long groan.

“Yes! Oh, yes!” he shouts and pushes back against you, and then you’ve reached the zero point where nothing matters anymore. You join his groans and fuck him in earnest.

You’re in a frenzy, but you can’t stop, and judging from Hayden’s reactions, he’s right there with you. You thrust and he catches all your movements, you fuck him and he fucks himself back on you. Your bodies clash together fast and furious, making a lot of noises you never heard before. You bow down and lick down his spine, you rub your cheek on his back, and with your beard you scratch the skin there, because you have to. He writhes underneath you, and yes, that’s good.

You reach out for his cock only to find he’s stroking himself already. You slap his hand away, wanting to do this yourself. You wank him as hard and fast as you fuck him, you squeeze and tug, you want to make him come and hear him moan and curse when he does. You hope that some of his come will land on your hand; you want to lick it off, you still need another taste of him.

Your other hand makes a mess of his hair, it’s got the perfect length to hold onto, and you make good use of it. You pull his head up as far as possible, you bite his neck again and groan into his ear. He curses again and you can feel it before the words settle in, so you quickly encircle the head of his cock and catch most of his come as he shoots in long spurts, bucking with every single wave.

You take what you got and smear it all over his back only to lick it off him again. He’s still bucking against you while you taste and swallow, and then you suddenly tense all over as your own orgasms hits you.

Maybe that’s the moment when you black out, you’re not sure. The next thing you realise is you lying on the floor, your head resting on your trousers. You look around and see Hayden leaning against the sofa, smoking, eventually noticing you.

“I thought you’d fallen asleep,” he muses, letting some ash fall carelessly to the ground.

“Well, no,” you answer with a hoarse voice and look around for the rest of your clothes. You begin to move towards them, but your body is sore and almost limp, so it takes you a while. But you manage.

Hayden is smoking in silence and you’d give your right arm for a cigarette right now, but you won’t ask him. Instead, you dress as quickly as you can manage, get up and ready to leave.

“Gotta go,” you say, throwing his own words back at him.

“Sure,” he replies without even looking up.

***

You seem to be yesterday’s news. Whatever Hayden was possessed with, it’s gone. You know it when you meet again for the first time after. Things have changed yet again. It looks as if everything’s back to normal, as it was before. When he smiles at you now, all you detect is warmth, adoration, love, even. But there are no more hidden threads, no more dares. 

You don’t know what to think about the new situation. You know you should be relieved, that it’s all for the better. But you feel a loss and hate yourself for doing so. You play along for some days, ignore everything that went on between the two of you, pretending the tension never existed. 

You need to make sure. You can’t stop thinking.

“What is this now?” you ask him one day.

“Hm, what?” he responds, eyes all big and innocent and for a split second, you wonder if you only imagined everything that happened.

“What’s going on, Hayden?”

“Nothing. Nothing’s going on.”

“Okay.”

You want to say anything else, more, talk this through again, because hey, this can’t be it, can it? But he smiles at you, the kind of smile that makes you want to hug and cuddle him and tell him what a great kid he is. You manage to smile back and watch him leave.

It’s a good thing you’re an actor, you think. Because in the end, it takes you weeks to get over it. You embrace Obi-Wan’s sadness and confusion, you live it. Everybody compliments you, even Hayden, who’s seeking your advice on a daily basis. You discuss anger and hurt and love with him, and he nods eagerly, soaking up your every word. You let him.

You can’t explain it, can’t explain what you feel. He brought you down, further than anyone else before. Afterwards, he pushed you away like a broken toy. But still, you can’t hate him, you never could. You love him and you know he loves you. You also know that he’d never do willingly do you any harm, so you tell yourself that you had to grant him this one favour, whatever came out of it. It’s a pathetic lie, for you know there are always two involved, but it’s a lie you can live with. And slowly, very slowly, you move on. You’re a grown up, you know what life is like, and just because you’ve never been in this kind of situation before (you were used to it being the other way around, with you being the one in charge, the one coming and going as desired) doesn’t mean you can’t handle it.

***

You talk about it once more, a few days before the end of shooting. You’re almost recovered by then, the thought of going back home doesn’t scare you anymore but fills you with anticipation and joy. Hayden joins you outside for a smoke, his head resting on your shoulder. You stroke his hair absent-mindedly and think that yes, that’s the way things should be. When he speaks up, he does so so softly you almost don’t hear it.

“I’m fucked up,” is all he says, but you get him right away. And you don’t have to think about what to tell him. You’ve played out this dialogue in your head over and over again.

“No. You just need to find yourself. And accept whatever you find.”

He chews on his lip and falls silent, until: “I’ll miss you.” Whispering now.

“I know,” you reply. “Me too. But you’ll be fine, trust me. You are so much stronger than you think. You really don’t need me as much as you think you do.”

He sighs and you move, making him face you. You smile, kiss him carefully and embrace him afterwards. He’s so desperate for your hug, you’d hold him all day, if necessary.

“Thank you,” he says when you part, “for everything, you know.”

All you do is nod.

“I love you.”

“I know.” 

He smiles. “Gotta go.”

“Of course. Take care.”

***

Months later, you have embraced your real life again. You’re back where you belong. You have buried what you dubbed the ‘Mad-Hayden-Phase’ in a secret place far away from everything that’s dear to you. You haven’t shared it with anyone and you know you never will; it’s something you need to deal with all on your own, should it ever be necessary to do so at all. It’s something you have no desire to confess, what would be the use of it? So you’ve almost forgotten. Almost. Because sometimes, on very rare occasions, you allow yourself a special treat and go back to that one night, to sweat and anger and relief of the most bittersweet kind. Other than that, you’re just the man you always wanted to become. You love and are loved. You feel good and make others feel good, too, and that’s so much more than you could ever have asked for.

You notice certain rumours regarding Hayden’s sexual life floating around again. People are gossiping and you start to worry how he’s coping with all of it. You wonder if you should give him a call, but you think that talking to him on the phone won’t do, so you just do nothing but worry silently. Until, one day, while scanning yet another “Is Hayden Christensen Gay?” headline in the awful rags you never want to check but sometimes do anyway, you stumble across this quote:

“I don't say anything. My perspective is that if it's not true, then I'm OK with it, and I get a laugh out of it.”

You can’t stop laughing for about five minutes. You know he’s doing damn well on his own, and you can’t wait to meet him again at the premieres.

~END~


End file.
